Not Because It Is Easy
by contrailclouds
Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang throws himself into rebuilding Ishval, while an overeager Alphonse Elric struggles to balance his enthusiasm for alchemy, his desire to experience everything, and the patience he needs to heal his neglected body. While accord is sown in the Southeast there is discord in the North, and Drachma's aggressive expansion could foil everyone's ambitions. Roy x Alphonse
1. Chapter 1

The train rocked in that old familiar rhythm at a steady clip of seventy miles per hour, the view smearing past the windows a vision of pastoral beauty. The sun shone, turning the Amestrian countryside into a riot of deep summer green and gold. The elevated tracks cut alongside fields of wheat or corn or livestock, separated by boundary hedges and dotted with the occasional red-shingled farmhouse or the distinctively conical roof of an oast. It was a day to rival any of the most beautiful in Resembool, nostalgic and idyllic at the same time.

Curled in his seat with one arm braced across his knees and the other hand pressed to his mouth, Alphonse could not appreciate it. Alphonse felt disgusting.

He vaguely remembered a time when he'd felt worse than this, when he was three (or perhaps four?) and caught one of those incomparably devastating childhood illnesses, a stomach bug and an ear ache and a fever all rolled into one. He vaguely remembered the week he'd spent in bed, sipping water and nibbling bread only to throw it up again half an hour later, his mother dripping warm olive oil into his ears and Ed sternly icing his forehead. But the memory was hazy, and his discomfort now was extremely acute.

When he'd bid his brother goodbye from the platform two days earlier with only half an hour to wait for his own train, Alphonse had felt just fine. More than fine, even. He'd been excited and optimistic about the journey to a foreign land - while he'd been all over Amestris, and was extremely well-traveled for a fourteen year old boy, he'd never actually left the country. He had all his papers in order: his first passport, bound in attractive blue leather with the Dragon embossed on the front in silver, along with his immigration papers and his Xingese visa, was tucked safely inside a slim wallet in the inside pocket of his overcoat. His luggage - one suitcase full of extremely smart clothes that Edward had insisted on buying for him only a few weeks previously, the other full of alchemy books - was strapped into the overhead rack above him. His briefcase, which contained the leather folder with his alchemy notes, some paper-wrapped sandwiches that Gracia had made for him, and a multitude of paperback novels, was on the seat next to him under his coat. He sat by the window, rested his crutches against the seat next to him and put his feet up on the seat opposite him. He'd never done that in a train before, and he wasn't sure if it was allowed, but it was a relaxing position and after an hour or so during which he wasn't told off for it, he stopped worrying. He read his novels, he read his notes, he looked out of the window and occasionally when the sun was at just the right angle he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and flushed with pleasure. The seats got surprisingly uncomfortable after a few hours of sitting in them, the cabin smelled a little stuffy and the sun was very warm on his face.

The fact was that it was the first time Alphonse had traveled alone, and he was so excited he felt like he might pop. He not only heard the clickety-clack of the wheels running over the expansion joints, he _felt_ it too. That was the day that Alphonse fell madly in love with traveling by train.

The second day passed in much the same way, but by the third it became apparent that something was wrong. He was stiff from sleeping on the seats, but when he sat up he felt violently dizzy. It passed after a moment or two, and Alphonse guessed it was just low blood sugar. He made his way to the dining car and stood for a few minutes in complete confusion, still unused to buying food on his own. He at last managed to meekly pick out some kind of pastry dusted with powdered sugar and slivered almonds and sat down in the corner to eat. He'd been too shy to ask what it was but it tasted good, really good. When he was finished, however, he didn't feel any better. If anything he felt a little worse. He bought a bottle of milk and took it back to his seat, sipping it miserably and wondering what he was going to do if his body started betraying him like this. He had no idea how to fix it. Should he go and try to throw up? He didn't really like the idea of throwing up in public. He barely remembered what it felt like to be sick. How was he supposed to figure out what was wrong with him?

Eventually he decided that he'd just have to suck it up and distract himself, and that worked for most of the day. The discomfort grew and grew but he did a good job of ignoring it until he was very nearly halfway done with his alchemy-fiction novel, and any further attempts at reading were spoiled by the sudden onset of a splitting headache.

Now he was curled over in his seat, unable to even look out of the window - seeing the landscape flying past like that was making his stomach turn now - fighting down the nausea creeping up the back of his throat. Keeping his eyes open made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something very high up, and his hands were shaking and his skin was damp. Even the thought of food made him feel sick.

For the first time since he'd begun to make the plans for his departure, he was beginning to think that he might have undertaken this trip a little too soon.

On the fourth day a lady had got on and sat across the aisle from him, seen his miserable disposition and offered him hard peppermint candy from a special tin in her purse. She herself got terrible motion sickness on the train, she explained to him, and the mint helped soothe her stomach. The candy tasted good, if a little strong, and it did help his stomach, but the other symptoms weren't mitigated in the slightest.

By the fifth day, the heart palpitations had started, and Alphonse admitted defeat. He had already vomited twice, hands on the wall over the toilet in that claustrophobic little bathroom, the rocking motion of the train not helping his nausea one bit. Throwing up, Alphonse discovered, _hurt_. His stomach muscles all seized up at once and the sharp pain of it was utterly unexpected. The sour, acidic taste of the vomit was vile, and the sheer fright of losing control of his body so completely with nobody to help him was paralyzing. After a lot of panicking and a lot of silent crying, he'd been able to clean up properly, rinsing his face and his mouth, and wiping the tears from his eyes. His teeth felt weirdly squeaky, and he was careful not to let them touch for a long while afterwards.

He got off at the very next stop, explaining his condition to the conductor who kindly let him keep his ticket for when he'd recovered. He did feel better in the fresh air, and no longer in motion, but not by very much. Still, he had to take care of himself, so after a few minutes resting in the station he got directions to the closest hotel, booking himself in. He had barely got inside his room before his body gave out and he collapsed on the bed, falling asleep fully dressed.

-

It was nearly a fortnight later that Alphonse made it back to Central. The doctor had made him stay in the hospital for a full week on fluids and a monitored food intake before granting permission for him to board the train back. The journey home was just as unpleasant as the journey out, if a little worse, and by the time the train pulled in at Central Station Al was a dizzy, sweaty, ashen mess. He was grateful, then, for that week of bedrest and confinement in the East. The doctor had told him that another five days on the train too soon could put him in shock, and given the way he felt now, Alphonse believed it.

He was helped with his bags, but he could barely stay upright even on his crutches. Nausea ebbed and swelled against his diaphragm, and he tried to force down the urge to vomit again, or at least dry-heave. There were people everywhere, and his strong sense of social propriety was really all that was holding him together at this point. So when someone finally came to his aid, he was unspeakably grateful.

"Alphonse. You look like death warmed up. Come on, let's go."

With Edward in transit, not to mention busy, the only other person Alphonse had had to contact was the Colonel. He'd asked the nurse to send a telegram, hoping that the Colonel could just find him a ride back from the station - he hadn't expected him to come out in the middle of the afternoon and pick him up personally. And yet here he was, forbidding in his uniform and overcoat amidst the tide of civilians on the platform, putting a steadying hand at Alphonse's elbow and gesturing for the station attendant to bring the luggage.

"Colonel..?"

"Don't argue, the driver's waiting. I've got your bags."

"But I think I need to go to the bathroom again... I don't feel very well and I wouldn't want to get your car dirty..."

A brief exchange sent the attendant on to the car while the Colonel helped Alphonse to the bathroom. He gave his reflection a critical study in the mirror over the washbasins, rearranging his hair by centimeters as he listened to Alphonse cough and retch into the toilet bowl. When the boy emerged, hair sticking to his forehead and his skin pink and shiny, tears in his eyes, Roy took pity and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. He wet it under the faucet, handing it wordlessly to Alphonse to cool his face with.

"Better?" the Colonel asked, and Alphonse nodded meekly.

"Yes, a little," he said. "I think I just need to get out of the station, that's all."

"Of course." The Colonel gave him a reassuring nod and supported his arm all the way back out to the car.

The engine was already running, the luggage stowed safely in the trunk, and Mustang opened and held the door for Alphonse as he struggled to get himself inside without tripping over his crutches or falling on his face. He managed to avoid both, and Roy closed the door and moved around to the other side, sitting beside him. The car pulled out of the station entrance, and Alphonse felt his sore stomach lurch again. This trip, he realized, was going to be awful.

"I'm sorry, sir," Alphonse said hastily. "I really didn't mean to put you to so much trouble..."

"Don't worry about it," Mustang replied. "Honestly, I'm glad for the distraction. I'm being worked to the bone lately. It's nice to get out of the office for a little while."

An excuse to procrastinate, then. Al hid a weak smile.

"Everything's been taken care of," the Colonel continued. "Unless you object, you'll stay in my apartment, for tonight, at least. I've called my physician, he should be there before long. He'll take care of you for the rest of the day."

Alphonse startled, eyes widening. He was just causing more and more trouble, wasn't he?

"Oh, no! I couldn't!"

"Nonsense," Roy replied mildly.

"But you're so busy, I don't want to impose, I've already been such a bother..."

The Colonel turned his head, giving Alphonse a look that fell precisely between stern and fond. It instantly silenced any further protests. Alphonse knew instinctively that only people who cared gave you a look like that.

"Alphonse, when people go through the kinds of things we have been through together, it is generally understood that they are friends, and will do things for each other when necessary. Don't forget that I was there when you got your body back. What would you rather I do, put you back on the train for another three days to Resembool when I have an excellent doctor on call right here in Central?"

Alphonse flustered a little at that, but he didn't dare argue. Ed had been protective enough over him, and now the Colonel was doing it too... although this didn't seem quite the same. Mustang's generosity often surprised Alphonse, when it showed itself. It was well-hidden most of the time.

"Thank you very much, Colonel," Alphonse replied, looking down at his knees, and Roy leaned back in his seat, apparently satisfied.

"Oh, don't mention it."

-

In all the time Alphonse had known Colonel Mustang, he didn't think he'd ever seen him care about work this much. As Roy helped Alphonse into the elevator, dragging the screen and then the door closed and pressing the button for the fourth floor, he clicked open his pocket watch to check the time. Alphonse saw the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes, such a faint wince, but undeniable even so. The ornate needle of the tarnished brass dial over the door swung in a slow arc from left to right, marking off all the flights of stairs Alphonse could not have climbed.

Mustang held both of Alphonse's suitcases under one arm, and Alphonse himself in the other. Alphonse at least carried his own briefcase. Despite the Colonel's firm insistence on helping, Al couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

The building itself was old, presumably retrofitted with the electric bulbs in their fan-shaped sconces that lit the halls. The Colonel's door was nondescript, white with no more adornment than the peep hole and the little brass numbers screwed in above it. Alphonse remembered the big house in Resembool that had once been his, and all the land around it, and felt a little sad that people lived in places like this. Then another thought chased on the heels of his sadness: _for the Colonel, at least, this is Home_. It felt a little warmer after that.

They were no sooner inside the door when the Colonel spoke, holding it for Alphonse and lingering on the threshold himself.

"Well, I've got to go. I'm expecting a call. The physician should be here any minute. I'll phone when I get back to the office. In the meantime, make yourself at home. The bathroom's at the end of the hall, and the bedroom is the door on the left. If you need to lie down, please feel free."

Alphonse nodded vigorously, thanking Mustang profusely. The click of the door closing sounded very loud, and all of a sudden Alphonse found himself completely alone in the Colonel's apartment.

Oh. Well.

The first thing Alphonse did was drop his briefcase by his suitcases and limp over to the couch, lowering himself down on to it and propping his crutches up against the arm. He touched his forehead, frowning a little at the heat under his hand. Well, the doctor would be here soon, and could tell him if he had a fever or not. It was, in its own way, frustrating that Alphonse was so out of touch with his own body that he couldn't even tell if he was too hot, but he didn't linger on it. What was the point? He'd adjust, after all. He had the joy of learning every aspect of his body to look forward to, and he was determined to keep seeing it that way.

The apartment was surprisingly nice, really. Alphonse wasn't sure whether he'd expected tacky or utilitarian or what, but Mustang's taste apparently veered toward the conservative. The couch upon which Alphonse sat was wood-framed (cedar? walnut?) and bow-legged, upholstered in mustard yellow velvet. It also appeared to have paws, which quite tickled Al. The rest of the furniture - the large desk by the window, the chair, the enormous bookshelves, the buffet - was made of the same kind of wood, and just as ornamental. The oak floorboards were a soft, warm shade of amber, and between the couch and the desk lay a very pretty rug which Alphonse thought might have been Aerugian, woven in geometric patterns which, while they held no alchemic significance, were still very pretty.

What really surprised Alphonse, though, was that the apartment was very clean. Save, that was, for the desk, which was a catastrophe. Alphonse guessed that Roy had a cleaner who was instructed not to go near his work, and he smiled a little. Judging from the state of the desk, this place would be in a pretty sorry state if it were left up to Roy.

He meant to stay awake until the doctor came, but his resolve lasted for barely a minute before he fell sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Alphonse?"

The sound of his name floated to Alphonse vaguely. He was coccooned in soft warmth and darkness, and he felt so, so safe. He didn't want to respond. He made a quiet sound, trying to curl a little tighter into his blankets and remain asleep.

"Alphonse," the voice repeated gently. It was so familiar. Not Brother's, though... not Winry or Granny's, either. A man's voice. Alphonse let his eyes slide open, and for a moment he had no idea where he was.

Then the memories returned. Colonel Mustang, and the physician who took his vitals and ordered him into bed, and this apartment that Alphonse had never set foot in before. Which meant this must be the Colonel's bed. Alphonse blinked up at the Colonel. He heard the soft sound of traffic from the street below. There was a light on beyond the hallway, casting half of the Colonel's face in gentle yellow light and the other half in deep shadow.

"You can go back to sleep if you want to, but I wanted to let you know that there's food, if you think you can eat."

Mustang spoke in a hushed, soothing voice that Alphonse had never heard him use before. It was definitely the tone of someone not wanting to fully break the atmosphere of sleep... but it was also the tone of someone addressing a child. Alphonse smiled a little, and snuggled deeper into the blankets. He hadn't been treated like a child in a long, long time, and while Edward would have found it patronizing and railed against it, Alphonse appreciated it.

"Food?" he murmured.

"Quiche," Roy replied, and Alphonse's eyes brightened.

"Gracia's?"

Roy snorted. "No," he said firmly. "Gracia doesn't feed me. It's from a bakery I like."

Alphonse was nestled so deeply into the thick quilt that only his head was visible, that honey-colored hair fluffed up into a short, tufted halo. He looked like a pea in a pod.

"I'd like a little bit, please, if that's all right." Alphonse hoped he could keep it down, and not embarrass himself_and_ waste his host's food, but he thought it was worth a chance. It was hard to turn down food. "And, um, maybe a glass of milk, if you have any..? I really feel a lot better now that I've had some proper sleep."

"Sure," Roy nodded, getting to his feet and moving back out to the kitchen. Alphonse lay, catnapping and listening to the faint noises from the kitchen, silverware on china and the sound of Roy's fancy electric Frigidaire opening and closing. The Colonel returned with a tray, which he set on Alphonse's lap when the boy had squirmed a little more upright. He took his own plate from it and perched on the side of the bed, eating off his knees.

Alphonse thanked him, and laid into the quiche. The first swallow reminded him of how sore he was from two days of periodic vomiting, however, and he had to force himself to slow down.

"This is delicious!" he announced, delighted, and Roy gave him a smile and a nod.

"When you're a little better I'll get pastries from this shop. The doctor said you shouldn't have sugar for a few days. It could make you sick again, and I think you've had enough of throwing up."

Alphonse tried not to look too disappointed.

"But aside from that, he was very optimistic," Roy added. "A few days of bed rest and the sickness should go away. It's just a simple case of overexertion."

Alphonse was quiet for a few moments, listening to the city-sounds floating up through the window, the rev of a particularly loud engine a few blocks away, the ebb and swell of indistinct conversation.

"I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've put you to," he said sadly. "And I know that you said we're friends and friends help each other, and I'm very grateful for that, but this wouldn't have happened if I'd just waited to get stronger before I went to Xing. I feel so silly now for trying to make a journey that long when I can't even walk without crutches... it's just that Brother was going West, and I'm not used to not being able to keep up with his pace..." '

Roy nodded, silenced momentarily by his mouthful of food. Alphonse noticed that he didn't speak with his mouth full. It was nice spending time with someone who was at least a little polite.

"That's quite understandable," Roy said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Besides, I gather that you were very excited to begin your research there. As well as to get reacquainted with a certain Xingese princess." He gave Alphonse a knowing smile, and the boy blushed deeply.

"I-I don't think she's a princess, exactly-" he stammered, and the Colonel laughed.

"You're fourteen," he told Alphonse firmly. "You ought to be having fun. And given the circumstances, you have certainly earned it, with interest, I'd say. Well, anyway, you're welcome to stay here until you're well enough to go home."

"I really, really appreciate it!" Alphonse smiled, but the expression didn't last. The downcast look that replaced it was, in Roy's opinion, downright puppyish. Of the kicked variety, too. "I guess I won't get to go to Xing for a while after all, then..."

"It wouldn't be advisable," Mustang agreed. "You ought to write a letter to May Chang explaining the situation. I'll have it posted for you."

"Oh, that's right!" Alphonse was a little dismayed that he hadn't remembered such a basic courtesy. "I'll write it tomorrow." He finished the quiche, set his fork down and picked up the glass of milk. Condensation had formed on the outside of the glass, cold and wet against his fingers. He gripped the glass a little tighter to keep it from slipping, and sipped at it, dainty as a little bird.

"Have you had any ideas on what you're going to do in the meantime?" Roy asked.

"Um? What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't study alkahestry now, as there's no materials on it in the country. But a mind as brilliant as yours obviously can't lay idle. So have you decided on what you're going to study until you're well enough to travel?"

Alphonse flustered a little, burying his face in his milk for a long moment to avoid having to answer. He smiled, unable to meet the Colonel's eyes.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "For the compliment, I mean."

"I didn't mean it as flattery..."

"Well, it's just that between the two of us, Brother is usually the one that impresses people, what with being the youngest State Alchemist in history and all. Not that I mind! But I'm not really used to hearing that kind of thing."

Roy slid his empty plate on top of Alphonse's, lacing his fingers in his lap and looking at the boy.

"Fullmetal makes a much stronger first impression than you do," the Colonel replied wryly. "Mostly by virtue of being louder, ruder and more destructive. Which isn't to say he isn't a prodigy, because he doubtlessly is. Your brother's genius is chaotic, though. You have a... natural sense of discipline which clearly isn't a family trait, and you think things through. Your maturity also surpasses his by a long way. That and your obvious talent and intelligence make it clear to me that you could easily become one of the greatest alchemists in the country, alongside your brother."

Alphonse all but glowed with pride, charmed and inspired by the frank compliments in that way that only the young can be, when the opinions of those they look up to can truly affect their confidence. With age, Roy knew, the boy would come to see people's respect for him as simply a matter of who to trust, but at the tender beginnings of his adolescence, hearing such a ringing endorsement of his value was important.

"Do you really think so? I do have some theories I'm working on that don't directly relate to alkahestry, or at least, I hope they'll amount to something..."

Roy nodded. "You have all the traits I would expect to see in an alchemic prodigy yourself," he said. "Even if you are far quieter about it. For which I am deeply thankful, incidentally."

"Yeah, I guess Brother is really a handful," Alphonse giggled. "Even I get frustrated with him sometimes. I hope he doesn't annoy you too much though, Colonel. You've done a lot for us, and even though he can be really rude I know he's grateful, too."

Roy waved a hand, dismissing the worry. "Although I don't like to admit it," he sighed, "It's really just that we're far too similar in personality to get along with each other."

"You think so..?" Alphonse was a little dubious.

"Not in the details," Roy clarified. "But in the principles, yes. We are both stubborn, we both hate losing, and we both understand the importance of protecting the people we love. It's just that..." Roy's eyes clouded, and it was his turn to frown for a fleeting moment before he brushed the unpleasant thought aside. "It's just that Fullmetal learned independence where I learned co-operation, I suppose."

He smiled, but it was a little forced, and Alphonse had to wonder what Roy had thought to say first.

Alphonse screwed the cap back on to the heavy fountain pen, set it down on the desk and blew lightly on the page to help the ink dry. He read the letter through again, making sure he was satisfied with every word, before neatly folding it into thirds and slipping it into an envelope. The Colonel had left writing supplies out on the desk for him that morning, guessing - correctly - that Alphonse would rather not write the letter at all than take paper without being invited. He looked around the mess on the desk for sealing wax and found nothing, so he just set the letter down and hoped that Mustang would take care of sealing and addressing it. Alphonse knew how to send a letter within Amestris, but he'd never had to send one across the border before. Still, he didn't worry too much about it. He hated the idea of taking the Colonel's care for granted, but Roy was very reliable, and Alphonse found that it was easy to trust in him to resolve something he'd already promised to take care of.

_Dear May,_

_I have some bad news. I'm very sorry, but I won't be able to come to Xing after all. I'm not well enough. I was on the train for five days before I had to get off, and the doctor kept me in hospital for a week. So I don't think I'll be doing much traveling for a while. _

_Please don't give up on our Alkahestry lessons! As soon as I am well enough, I will come. In the meantime, maybe I can make it up to you by sending you my work on Amestrian alchemy? Brother and I are working on a new idea. Speaking of Edward, he's already gone West. I'm a little bit jealous.. I guess I'll have to be a little more patient before I can really use this body._

_I'm staying in Central while I recover, with Colonel Mustang. He rescued me from the train station. He's been awfully kind to me, but I sort of wish I could go home. Not because I don't like it here, because I do (you should see all the books he has!). But the Colonel is working really hard and now he can't even sleep in his own bed. He won't let me say anything against it though, so I suppose I should just accept the hospitality. Still, I can't help feeling a little bad. _

_Did you know he can see now? Doctor Marcoh healed him with the Philosopher's Stone. I thought you might like to know!_

_I hope that you and Xiao Mei are well and safe, and that your clan is, too! We all miss you and Ling. _

_Warmest regards,_

_Alphonse Elric_

_P.S. I'm sure the Colonel won't mind if you write back to this address!_

The telephone rang shrilly, giving Roy a much needed excuse to stop writing for a moment to answer it.

"Colonel Mustang's office."

"Miles speaking. Is this a good time to talk?"

"Never better." Roy checked his watch. Right on time.

"I'm just phoning in the sitrep, and there's a couple of matters we should discuss, too."

"Fire away. " Roy fiddled with his pen, flicking it in little circles on his desk, then picking it up between two fingers and drumming it against his thumb.

"Do you remember that yesterday I told you that we were opening negotiations to have the bases on the border transferred to Ishvalan jurisdiction?"

"Mm?"

"Last night all the Amestrian soldiers pulled out and left."

Roy sat bolt upright. "What!?"

"Yeah. All three locations, too. It was co-ordinated. Their orders were to vacate them ready for us, so on paper it looks like they were compliant. It's been pandemonium. There were looters. Mostly Amestrian," Miles added quickly.

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't heard about this."

"Well, you're hearing it now. We mostly got the situation under control, but I'm loath to request additional security."

"Understandably." Roy winced. Sending in troops to quell this little uprising would be diplomatic suicide. "I'll try and get hold of Grumman and have a minimal staff transferred to the bases tomorrow. Once they're restaffed we can begin an orderly transfer, or as orderly as it can be after this. How does that sound?

"Much better than what I've got now," Miles said wryly. "I'd appreciate it."

"What a clusterfuck."

"My thoughts exactly. I suppose we knew your plans wouldn't be popular with everyone."

"Well, I'm not about to give up. It helps to be friends with the Fuhrer. I'll do everything I can to salvage the situation."

"You have my thanks."

"Is it all bad news?"

"Not all," Miles reassured him. "Although it's not as good as it could be, things are going well in the trade talks."

"Thank goodness," Roy muttered. The offer of aid from Amestris had been refused, so Roy's next tactic had been to suggest trading incentives. It was clear that the region wouldn't be able to get back on its feet without them, which made it all the more frustrating to the Colonel that they were being passed so reluctantly.

"You should plan for a trip, I think. I know we've been keeping everyone but me out, but I think it's getting to the point where you showing your face would do more good than harm."

Roy frowned. The prospect of visiting Ishval was far from a pleasant one, although he'd known it would be necessary from the moment he'd begun this endeavor. "You're springing this on me a bit fast."

"I'm telling you what I think is necessary."

Of course.

"All right," Roy said, his voice a study in self-control. "I'll make arrangements. When do you want me? "

"Next week would be ideal."

"I'll see what I can do. I'll need to submit a request."

"Understood. Don't bother packing a coat, incidentally. It must be a hundred and ten in the sun today." Roy could hear the tiredness in Miles' voice. "I can't wait for this to be over so I can go back to the North."

"I think everyone has a reason for wanting to make good time on this."

"It's embarrassing. Every time I go outside I risk heatstroke. I can endure the cold, but not this. Well, anyway. I ought to go. Until you get these bases restaffed I'm the one in control of all three of them."

"Good luck," Roy said. He didn't envy Miles' job.

"Thanks. I'll need it."

The line went dead, and Roy set the receiver down in its cradle for a moment. He wasn't thinking of the call he had to make to Fuhrer Grumman. He was thinking about the desert. The searing heat of those memories stretched out in his mind in an awful, shimmering track. He remembered the way the desert swallowed up all the ruin they'd inflicted on it. All that blood was still there, filtered down under the dunes and the rubble. The last thing in the world Roy wanted to do was go back there himself. His footprints would sink into the sand and show red.

He shook himself, trying to recover. He had a whole week before he had to start coping with that. For now, he had a job to do and a problem to solve. He got up, poured himself another cup of coffee, and set it resolutely down on his desk before picking up the phone again. He slipped his fingertip into the rotary dial, punching in Grumman's memorized number without a moment's hesitation. And when the call was answered, Mustang's voice was perfectly steady.


	3. Chapter 3

Alphonse had arrived back in Central on a Tuesday, and Roy had showed up to work on Saturday for overtime, but not even Ishval would drag him into the office on a Sunday. Every night that week Roy had returned to the same scene: Alphonse lying on the bed or the couch (or, the last two nights, on the rug) with five or six books open around him and his notebook open in his lap. Alphonse had the books he'd packed for Xing, but Roy had noticed the boy getting into his own rather impressive collection too.

On Friday Roy had only gone home for a few minutes to bring Alphonse food and to change into civilian clothes for a date - and had returned home early on Saturday morning to retrieve his uniform again before going to work - but aside from that his evenings had been spent at home, and he hadn't bothered Alphonse at all. Alphonse's focus was absolute, a kind Roy had never been able to summon up in himself, and the Colonel was rarely in the mood for alchemy after work in any case. So they had developed a routine of silent coexistence. Alphonse worked, and Roy amused himself, playing records on the phonograph, listening to the radio, drinking, reading. It was far more agreeable than Roy had expected living with a fourteen year old boy to be, even one as patient and polite as Alphonse Elric. He found himself actually enjoying Alphonse's company a great deal. The child was a master of comfortable silences, and Roy found the passion and energy he brought to his work to be truly delightful to watch.

So delightful, in fact, that Roy had still not found Alphonse somewhere else to stay despite having not slept one night in his own bed since the boy's arrival. Friday night had at least been spent in _a_ bed, but the Colonel was starting to develop a bad crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch every other night.

Alphonse's family in Resembool had kept him to a strict sleeping schedule from the very first night he returned home, a schedule to which Alphonse took with surprising ease after his four years of sleeplessness, and Roy was awakened far too early on Sunday morning by the sound of Alphonse clattering around in the bathroom. Roy turned over in his blankets, pawing for the alarm clock on the floor and opening one eye to squint at it. Six-forty-five in the morning. Preposterous.

And then he recalled the day, and warm triumph spread through his chest. Sunday. No work. And Alphonse was already out of bed. Roy stood up, extricated himself from his blankets, and stumbled into his bedroom just as Alphonse was leaving the bathroom.

"Colonel! I didn't mean to disturb you," he began apologetically, before realizing that Roy was not, in fact, going to the bathroom.

Roy mumbled something incoherent. His hair was flattened on one side, sticking up in all directions, his cheeks unshaven and his eyes barely open. Alphonse had never seen him look so disheveled, or so inattentive. He collapsed face-down on his bed, rolling around a little, struggling to get under the blankets while Alphonse watched in disbelief from the doorway and tried not to be amused. When he was sleepy enough, the Flame Alchemist was little better than a floppy kitten.

"I'll wake you up in a few hours," Alphonse said softly, turning away to the living room, closing the door behind him.

Roy finally managed to get the comforter out from under himself and rolled up in it, sprawling out in his bed. His big, soft, wonderful bed. Oh, he'd missed this bed. The sheets and the pillows were still warm, and smelled unfamiliar - of course, he thought vaguely, Alphonse has been sleeping here for a week. That was the last coherent thought he had before drifting off to sleep.

Roy rose from sleep slowly and reluctantly, feeling far too warm. He was aware of the lingering sensation of hands against his hips, of lips against his stomach. His breath hitched, and he murmured something sleepily, trying to encourage those touches back. That mouth had been on a distinct path downwards, and Roy was achingly hard and would very much like the teasing to stop and the main event to begin.

Even as he clenched one hand in the sheets and groaned in protest, he was waking up. Clarity and perspective were returning to him, as well as the memories of the dream that was rapidly and disappointingly fading. Soft, unfeminine hands caressing his jaw his neck, smoothing gently down his body with a little more experience than was reasonable to expect; short, wheat-colored hair tickling his belly as that exquisitely talented mouth moved down his body...

It was hard to imagine a more jarring, guilty awakening.

Damn, it had seemed so _real_. He ran his hands over his face and up through his hair in defeat. Roy's imagination could certainly get out of hand, and he'd had plenty of compromising dreams about people he really shouldn't have, but this was crossing a line. Alphonse was a child, after all! Barely in puberty! For Roy, who considered himself to be a man of open-minded but sophisticated tastes, this felt positively vulgar. However it was also very arousing, if his persistent erection was anything to go by.

Well, was he attracted to Alphonse? If Roy thought about it, he couldn't deny that the boy was strikingly good-looking. Even if he was far too thin, he had the makings of a handsome young man, and his coloring was positively autumnal. Every smile reached his eyes, and he was not only attractive, but charming and intelligent too. And therein, Roy supposed, lay the problem. Alphonse may have only been fourteen, but he had already been through more than most would experience in their entire lifetimes. And while he retained a certain innocence, he was possessed of a straightforward honesty that most people lacked at any time in their life. Roy spoke to him as an adult and Alphonse responded in kind.

He had not seen this as permission to treat Alphonse as mature in every sense, though. Rules were rules.

Roy rolled on to his side, and breathed in Alphonse's scent from his pillow. If this situation was salvageable, it was only by a stronger man than Roy. His hand slipped downwards, cupping himself through his pajamas, and his eyes closed again. Well, finishing his fantasy wouldn't hurt anyone but himself. Indulging a train of thought like this once wouldn't be terrible. Roy had jerked off to some pretty awful fantasies in his time.

Afterwards he was left dazed and glowing. He wrapped his arm around his pillow, feeling his pulse hammering at the hollow of his throat and pressing sweat-slicked skin and sticky bangs to the cool cotton, and was forced to concede the possibility that he may be nursing an infatuation.

After a long few minutes just spent basking and a nice, hot shower, looking Alphonse in the eye was surprisingly easy.

"Oh, Colonel, you're up!" Alphonse looked up smiling, and Roy was helpless to keep from returning it. "I was going to wake you up once I was done with this- um, did you sleep well?"

So unfailingly polite. Roy noticed Alphonse had made tea, the pot and a cup and saucer set out beside him on the floor.

"Like a baby," Roy said, a little vaguely. "Have you had breakfast yet? I'm starving."

Alphonse looked a little sheepish. "I was going to wait for you," he said, "And then I got distracted by my work and sort of lost track of the time..."

He was only now realizing his hunger. He'd had a glass of milk when he got out of the shower, and he'd drunk most of his pot of tea, but that wasn't nearly enough.

Roy himself had gotten dressed relatively casually - shirt tucked into his slacks, garters for his socks but not his shirt, collar left open. It was not too casual to go out in, however. The sun was pouring invitingly through the windows, and Roy realized quite suddenly that Alphonse had not left the apartment all week. He was recovering his health, of course, but sunlight and fresh air could be as good for a person as bed rest.

"Do you feel up to going out?" Roy asked. "You could tell me what you're working on, if you felt like it. And I wouldn't mind a walk."

Alphonse looked inordinately pleased with the suggestion. "Oh, yes please!" He pushed himself up to his feet, stumbled and caught himself on the back of the couch. "...My legs fell asleep," he said, a little dismayed, and Roy suppressed a fond smile.

"I'm going to finish getting dressed while you recover yourself," Roy said. "You put on your socks and shoes."

He watched Alphonse nod his assent, stagger to the couch and begin rubbing the feeling back into his feet before he turned back to his bedroom in search of a vest and a cravat.

The place Roy had in mind was only a couple of blocks away, and he was glad for it. He matched his pace to Alphonse's, but by the time they reached the cafe it was clear that the boy was getting tired. The cafe, named _Sable D'Or_ in ornate black letters over the door, was little more than a bar on the inside but made up for it with outdoors seating all the way to the curb. Roy chose a table, drawing out a seat for Alphonse without even thinking about it.

It was a beautiful day, perfect for eating breakfast outside (although it was edging closer to lunchtime than anything). The sun was out, baking the sidewalk, the air kept comfortable by a light breeze. A woman sat a couple of tables across from them, the sleeves of her white dress fluttering softly, brown hair kept neat in a braid down her back, a large straw hat on her head casting dappled, patterned shadows on the smooth skin of her shoulders. Roy chose a seat with a strategic view of her, stretched his legs out and glanced toward the open door. It wasn't even a full minute before a waiter came out with menus and a pitcher of iced water.

"Roy! Good to see you again!"

"Hello, Henri."

Alphonse startled a little - he hadn't expected Roy to be that well-known. He wondered how many other restaurants and cafes there were around Central that knew Roy by his first name. For his part, Roy couldn't help but feel a little self-satisfied at the awed look on Alphonse's face.

"Oh, and you brought a little friend!" Glasses were set down and water poured, the ice tinkling as it splashed in. It was an exquisitely refreshing sound. "Who is this, your nephew maybe?"

Was it Alphonse's imagination, or did Roy hurry to negate the assumption a little too quickly?

"Oh, no, not at all," Roy said. "This is Alphonse, he's the brother of a colleague of mine. And... a good friend." He smiled smoothly.  
"We're just here to discuss his work."

Henri looked rather impressed, and Alphonse smiled and looked down, shy and modest.

"Work? But you can't be more than... sixteen?"

"Fourteen," Alphonse corrected him, and Henri made a low, impressed sound.

"Whoaa, smart kid! Must be a real genius! Well, if you're Roy's friend that's good enough for me. I'm gonna take good care of you today."

"Thank you," Alphonse said faintly.

Henri bent over Alphonse while the boy looked over the menu, making recommendations that Alphonse clearly needed, if the glazed look in his eye was anything to go by. Roy didn't say anything, didn't even bother to look at his own menu, and when Alphonse had finally chosen (double french toast with fresh fruit, black tea with lemon and honey, and a soda float - clearly he was celebrating his ability to eat sugar again), Roy ordered eggs benedict and a cafe au lait and took a judicious sip of his water.

"So," he said. "About that theory of yours."

Alphonse raised his head, the haze of bashfulness and gluttony starting to lift, and nodded.

"Right."

Roy folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, a faint smile on his lips, all his attention focused on Alphonse. While there was a lingering appreciation for his looks, for the way the sun caught his hair and his eyelashes and the soft perfection of his skin, Roy was enthralled only by his passion and alchemic talent now. He wanted very much to know what kind of promse Alphonse showed in this field.

"Well, for a long time, the only thing Brother and I believed in was the Law of Equivalent Exchange. But after everything that happened, I started to question everything more... including Equivalent Exchange. I mean, if it were true, then everything would stay the same, right? There would only ever be the same amount of everything in the world and nothing would ever change through alchemy. We'd only be able to make progress unalchemically, because doing alchemy would take away as much as it gives."

Roy thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, that does follow," he said slowly. The boy was talking in philosophy, not something Roy excelled at, but he could certainly keep up.

"But that isn't true! I mean, even though alchemy can do bad if people use it that way, overall we've made so much progress with it that I don't think Equivalent Exchange can be true. My theory is that you don't only use the materials when you perform a transmutation, but you use part of yourself as well. The way I explained it to Gracia was that you take ten, but then because you put a part of yourself into it, you give back eleven, and that's progress. See?"

Roy wasn't sure how to feel. He was honestly surprised by how intensely his feelings rose against the idea of alchemy as a creative, progressive force, but at the same time he couldn't in good faith deny what Alphonse was saying. He was also, admittedly, swept up by Alphonse's passion. Roy had always been given to idealism, although the war had left him with a cynical streak jarringly at odds with the rest of his personality. Alphonse resonated with a part of himself he wasn't sure he still deserved to have.

"I think it might hold water," Roy said slowly. "But... what about alchemy like mine?"

"It's the same, of course," Alphonse replied simply, nursing his water.

"But flame alchemy is a tool of destruction."

"Not really," Alphonse mused. "You saved a lot of people's lives with it. I don't think any part of alchemy is inherently good or bad. It all depends on the alchemist in question, and what they're trying to accomplish. Although the whole of alchemy itself... Well, I think the pursuit of knowledge is always good. No matter whether it's alchemic knowledge or some other kind, it only becomes bad if you use what you find to do bad things. So my theory applies to everything, the same as Equivalent Exchange did."

Roy felt a little stunned. Was it that simple to dismiss what he saw as flame alchemy's instrinsic harmfulness?

It took him a moment to realize that Alphonse's silence was not thoughtful but expectant, and gave the boy a questioning look.

"So... do you think I'm on to something, Colonel?"

Of course. Somehow, Roy hadn't even thought that Alphonse would need his opinion on it. Perhaps because he felt somewhat outmatched, on an intellectual level - not to mention humbled in his bitter cynicism. What Alphonse said not only rang true in Roy's soul, but served to highlight just how sour, how misanthropic he had become over the years.

Hughes would not have been pleased with him.

"Oh, without a doubt," Roy said, gathering himself. "Pursue this theory until you prove it or it disproves itself."

Alphonse beamed.

Their food came not long afterwards, and the conversation was swept away by Alphonse waxing lyrical over the toast and the cinnamon and the fruit. He was a riot of emotion when he ate, Roy noticed; from the look of bliss when he sucked the excess honey from the spoon, warm and runny from the tea, to the sideways glances he kept giving Roy's plate until the Colonel noticed and offered him a bite. Alphonse had had eggs and muffins before, but hollandaise was a new one. Of course, it did not take long for him to declare excitedly that he liked it. The cafe au lait was also new, although it was met with more of a mixed reaction - Roy's guess was that it had sufficient milk to be palateable to him, but the bitterness of the coffee still ultimately put him off. Which, of course, only served to remind Roy of the boy's age, too young to appreciate adult tastes like coffee or alcohol.

The guilt was sharp enough for Roy to avert his eyes from Alphonse for a few moments, and to carefully not even think about what he'd done that morning. Certainly the worst part of it was knowing that he was entertaining such thoughts and feelings without Alphonse's knowledge or consent. That irked Roy. Still, he refused to let such things spoil his meal, and indulged Alphonse's every request, helpless to keep from being swept up in his enthusiasm and charm.

It wasn't until they paid the check and rose to leave that he attempted a distraction.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Alphonse was already starting away from the cafe when Roy stopped at the woman's table, and had to pause mid-stride, turning to wait for him. The woman looked up at Roy, tipping her hat back a little.

"I was hoping you could give me the time," Roy said, humbly. He took out his pocketwatch and held it up. "My watch has been running slow all day."

There was the inevitable startle when she saw his pocketwatch, realized his profession and his rank - and then the inevitable flush when she looked higher and saw his face.

"Oh- of course!" She held out her wrist for him to look at her watch and make a show of timing the second hand, and before she could withdraw it, Roy snapped his watch shut and took her wrist gently in his fingers.

"May I ask your name?" He met her eyes, and smiled.

"Oh, certainly- ah, it's Vivienne." She smiled back. "May I ask yours?"

"Roy," he said. "Roy Mustang. Say, if you have a spare minute on Monday, why don't you come by Central Headquarters? Around, oh, lunchtime?"

Alphonse stood and waited patiently while Roy finished charming the lady and returned to accompany him home. He was still smiling, still perfectly affable, when Roy caught up to him, so Roy was surely mistaken - but he did seem a little put out. It had worn off entirely before they had reached the apartment, though, and Roy didn't think of it again.


End file.
